In her loneliness she is perceived

as ethereal and distant

yet the hours of solitude

her unspeakable burden

weigh heavily

upon her fragile frame

and her face, ghostly

a tracery of fine lines

aches for colour

anchored in the cold earth

she dreams of unfurling

out of the shadows and into the light

as season, after season, her petals open

into nothing but emptiness

the darkness ever clawing at her back

the echoes of wishes, dying in the void

her stark pale face

still haunts the night

and the wind carries her perfume

to all the places, that she will never see

© Ann Bagnall

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.